


Soothed, Sedated

by Sleepy_lil_hyena



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, Camp, Canon Disabled Character, Cute Ending, Drabble, Dungeon, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gun Violence, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Might do some more of this, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Romantic Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Tenderness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Female Character, Trans girl Musketeer, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28677108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepy_lil_hyena/pseuds/Sleepy_lil_hyena
Summary: After another hard-fought victory against the eldritch horror of the Pelagics in the Cove, McDowell and her two lovers enjoy some much earned rest at camp.
Relationships: Musketeer/Vestal/Highwayman (Darkest Dungeon)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Soothed, Sedated

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends!
> 
> I'm really excited to present my first non-SPOP fanfic ever and hope it's to...someone's liking. I'm extremely hooked on Darkest Dungeon right now after nabbing it for free from the Epic Store. I got very attached to a handful of my grimdark gothic anti-heroes--a horrible decision, really, given they're destined to either collapse with stress or just get murdered--and naturally went ahead and made them cute and gay. It's what I do, sorry, I don't make the rules. Also, just to warn everyone, today is the last day before I return to university, so writing output is unfortunately going to slow a bit again. I apologize if I didn't put much out over Christmas break. Winter is unfortunately a very tough time for me, and I'm dealing with the usual angst from home dynamics and being forcibly separated from my boyfriend due to high Covid cases in this worthless province (thanks Doug Ford!). Well, if my adventurers can find some sweetness amidst their horrific surroundings, I guess I can too. Eventually. 
> 
> As the fiend falls, a faint hope blossoms, 
> 
> S_L_H

There was a horrid crack as the shot connected and the Pelagic Shaman’s head exploded. McDowell heaved a relieved sigh, knowing now her and her team would be safe from the fish-like warlock’s brain-bending sorcery. Preparing to reload her musket from the back of the party, she could already see the pleased looks on her comrades’ faces, clearly thankful for McDowell’s support. The faintly happy glances gave way once again to the din of battle as the rest of the party made their offensives, free to focus on the Pelagics’ rank and file. The Musketeer thus hung back, finished loading her rifle, and awaited her next opening. 

The Cove’s cerulean caverns echoed with shots, slashes and shrieks as the rest of the party clashed with the Pelagics. The lumbering, hulking brute at the front of the enemy mob was a scrapper, lunging a blueish-scaled arm at the party as it struck with its curved blade. Brai, the party’s holy Vestal--and, well, a few other things to McDowell--proved to be even more swift; she raised her club to the sky, sending a vermillion flash straight at the aquatic titan. The divine bolt seared the creature so badly it was paralyzed, unable to retaliate. Before its smaller--but no less pallid, scaly or rank--comrades could rush to its defense, Dismas launched his own strike. The bandit hit the Pelagics with a peppering of grapeshot that left the Pelagics reeling, snuffing one out in the process. Standing at the formation’s very front, stoic as always, the masked Leper Florian brought his bastard sword down in a wide blow which acted as the coup de grace. Cleaving the colossal Pelagic and his harpoon-toting underling in two, the eldritch host had finally been dispatched. 

“Our foes abate,” Florian rasped, resting his sword on his shoulder, “We did it.” 

“W-we did?” Dismas twitched, looking over his shoulder, pistol and stiletto still at the ready, “Uh, I mean, we did! Of  _ course  _ we did! Was never in doubt!” 

“Your confidence inspires us all, mister Dismas,” Florian laughed, humouring his outlaw travelling companion. 

“Likewise, Flo. Lovely job, everyone,” the Highwayman looked around and gave a quick wink to the two women behind him and Florian, smiling beneath his forest-green bandana. 

“We may have all won the battle, but McDowell’s shooting made the triumph all the more trivial,” Brai put a steel-plated arm around the Musketeer’s shoulder, “Had she not taken that unholy Shaman down, I fear we would have all lost our minds down here.” 

McDowell blushed under her wide-brimmed hat. Brai was always so sweet to her, even if she was notorious for cracking under pressure and jeering the rest of the group. Somehow, however, the chestnut-robed Vestal always spared McDowell the worst of it even at her most stressed.

“Feh. It was nothing special. I could’ve made a shot like that easy,” Dismas sneered. 

“Oh? Is that a challenge,  _ monsieur _ Dismas?” McDowell taunted. 

“Afraid so, luv. Thinkin’ we settle this with a friendly shooting contest later,” the Highwayman teased back, a faint hint of innuendo in his singsonging Cockney timbre. 

“You’ll forgive me if I implore you to save your pleasantries for later, comrades,” Florian interrupted as he stepped between the two, his paradoxically imposing-yet-withered physique more than enough to drive a barrier between the playfully quarrelsome marksmen, “We have one task left to do before we can seize some respite.” 

“And what might that be, boss?” Dismas asked. 

The red-and-gold-armoured Leper took a gloved, bandaged hand off his bastard sword and waved to the pile of Pelagic corpses in the centre of the cavern, already bloated and festering with the stench of rotten fish. Behind the twisted, pulpy mangle of blueish flesh, something gleamed in the watery glow of the cave. 

“Ooh, right!” Dismas’ beady eyes lit up suddenly, his voice a delighted squeal not unlike the Swine that plagued the Warrens, “Come to papa!” 

“Have a care, mister Dismas,” Florian rested a hand briefly on the shoulder of Dismas’ fur coat, “The Estate’s instructions were to recover their family heirlooms and bring them back to the surface. I fear they shall not be pleased if you--” 

“Yeah yeah yeah, leave the crest-y thingies, blah blah. Just means  _ anything else is fair game _ !” the Highwayman cackled mischievously, “Later, losers!” 

Dismas took off in the direction of the strongbox as fast as his legs could carry him, which--befitting a man of his talents--was quite fast. Florian’s scarred mouth hung agape between his mask’s opening, seeming almost panicked as he hurried after Dismas; how the ailing warrior-troubadour was able to run while lugging that colossal, broken blade was beyond McDowell, and the Musketeer guessed that Brai’s holy scriptures had no divine explanations for it either. The blonde sharpshooter looked to her ascetic companion, raising an eyebrow beneath her hat. Brai cracked a smile in that surprisingly soft way she often reserved for the Musketeer, capable of radiating such heat and compassion for such a stony, devout woman of the faith. 

Granted, McDowell knew the Vestal had been known to break a vow or two every now and again. More often than one might suspect, even. 

“Help me set up camp?” Brai asked. 

“Happy to oblige,” McDowell nodded, eager to get some actual work done while the boys ran circles around the strongbox. 

McDowell awoke to a faceful of hair. She wasn’t sure if it was her’s between the dim light of the tent and her eyes still being numbed from sleep. As her eyes came into focus, she was able to better make out the locks that fell across her vision; they were thick, curly, the colour of hot coffee. She smiled. 

_ I guess followers of the Light never get instructed in sleeping gracefully,  _ McDowell thought. 

Brai still laid across McDowell’s lean chest, the shorter woman snoring peacefully while laying an outstretched hand across the Musketeer’s toned belly. Tilting her head slightly, McDowell found Dismas to her immediate right, turned away from the other two lovers’ embrace but still close enough for McDowell to feel his warmth. The Cove’s damp and dingy caverns were cold as the open sea, but the blonde riflewoman always found the solace of heat with her two paramours. She found a smile creeping across her face again, feeling sleepy still and angling for another few minutes cuddling and resting with the others, fatigued from both the perils of the cove and the... _ physical revelries  _ of the previous night; her aspirations of sweetness were suddenly shattered, however, as a starting vibration pierced the air. 

There was movement outside the tent. Footfalls. Lumbering, crunching, stomping across the watery crags like distant cannon fire creeping ever closer. McDowell felt an urge to call out for Dismas in the dark, ask him if he had his knife under his pillow or something. She heard the outer fabric of the tent ruffle, the sound of hands on the flap, and then…

_ Oh, thank the Light,  _ McDowell thought as the outsider made his presence known,  _ I should have guessed.  _

The Musketeer never thought she’d be quite so glad or relieved to see such a stricken face as Florian’s, all scars and sores through the openings in his mask. 

“Comrades, I believe we should--” the red-robed Leper started as he entered the tent, then froze as he noticed his three travelling companions and their distinctly disrobed state. McDowell was thankful that the covers of their bedrolls fell across most of the sensitive bits. “Oh.  _ Oh.  _ I see. I will, uh, return later.” 

“Mmf, right. Thanks, Florian…” the blonde Musketeer grumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her voice always sounded so rough in the mornings, a fact she felt quite insecure about. “...I’ll see to it that the other are dressed and ready in a few moments.” 

“Wonderful. I shall stand guard until then, miss McDowell,” the warrior-troubadour bowed slightly, then proceeded to flee the tent. 

McDowell felt a rise in her spirits, contrasting with the negative gut feeling her own voice gave her. She never would have expected such kindness, such acceptance from the Leper. Florian was esoteric, spiritual, rigid as a stone altar despite his fragile frame. Despite whatever holy dogma compelled him, however, he always respected McDowell and saw her for who she was. She respected him as a good friend and companion, and could think of no one better to fight the darkness alongside. 

Well, almost no one. 

Begrudgingly, McDowell gently shook her slumbering lovers. First Brai--the logical choice due to how close she was, likely already roused due to her proximity to McDowell--and then Dismas. Dismas predictably twitched at the jostling, the olive-skinned bandit all nerves as always. Brai simply muttered something to the effect of ‘five more minutes, Reverend Mother’ and proceeded to grab McDowell even tighter. Well, at least Dismas was up. 

“That time already, love?” the Highwayman asked as he rubbed sleep from his eyes, melancholic. 

“Afraid so,” McDowell shrugged and smiled reluctantly. 

“Take it Brai didn’t get the memo.” 

“When does she ever?” 

“D’you suppose it’s a faith thing? Like, do they sleep really late in convents or something?” 

“Why on Earth would you ask me?” 

“Touche,” Dismas laughed dryly, “Shall I give ‘er the old college try, then?” 

“You’re welcome to,” McDowell said. 

Dismas winked, the movement just barely visible in the dark. If McDowell wasn’t familiar with the Highwayman’s wily demeanor, she’d likely have mistaken it for a random facial twitch. He leaned in to the sleeping Vestal, still snoring like a locomotive, and then handled the situation with the same tasteful subtlety he was known for. 

“ _ Brai! _ ” Dismas suddenly snapped. 

Brai yelped, her rubenesque form trembling against McDowell as she rose to sit bolt upright in the tent. The holy warrior looked around, confused and frightened, until her gaze followed the sound of Dismas cackling. McDowell put her face in her palm and sighed. 

“Oh, the look on your face! Bloody hell!” Dismas hooted, wiping a tear from his eye. 

“Ugh...Well, I’m up. Are you happy now, outlaw?” Brai hissed. 

“Quite,” the swarthy bandit admitted. 

Brai cursed under her breath, then looked to McDowell in the tent’s dim light. The Musketeer smiled as she felt her lover’s hand find hers and hold on tight. 

“Time to go, then?” Brai asked. 

“Seems that way,” McDowell nodded, then looked to her other partner, still quietly chuckling to himself, “Dismas, darling, would you mind grabbing my gun for me?” 

“Which one?” Dismas teased, suddenly consumed with the honey-like sweetness of innuendo. McDowell then became quickly aware of just how close the Highwayman’s coarse, nicked hand was to her thighs. 

“Really, Dismas? Really?” Brai sounded totally unimpressed. McDowell could almost hear the eyeroll in the chocolate-haired Vestal’s voice. 

“Oh, look who’s talking.” 

“Wha--What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It  _ means,  _ Sparkles, that you had exactly the same gun on your mind as me last night.” 

“You utter--” 

“Just kiss already, you idiots,” McDowell laughed. 

Brai and Dismas glared at McDowell for a moment, then shrugged, smiled, and pecked each other’s lips. 

“Least it shut you up for a few seconds,” Brai smirked venomously. 

“Maybe I ought to run my mouth more, then,” Dismas winked again. 

“Save it for the tavern. We shall see,” the Vestal sneered playfully. 

“Ooh, well, s’pose that’s all the more reason to get back on the road,” Dismas lifted up his pillow and found his bandana, tying it around his neck and bringing it to just below his nose. The Highwayman then took a look around and frowned. 

“Ah, bollocks. Left me pack outside. Give us a tic, darlings.” 

Dismas took the covers from the bedroll, hastily wrapped them around himself, and then made a mad dash outside. McDowell watched Brai shake her head, then felt her lean against the Musketeer’s wiry shoulder. 

“I swear that man is a test from the Light,” Brai growled, eliciting a quiet laugh from her gun-toting girlfriend. Acidity may as well have been the holy woman’s love language. 

“He’s cute though,” McDowell snickered as she kissed Brai’s forehead. 

“ _ Yeah… _ ” the Vestal muttered, sucking a heated breath in. 

The two laughed in the dark for a precious few moments. Schadenfreude had to be savoured in these tenebrous lands, a resource as finite as food, medicine or torches. The laughs descended into a kiss between the two, passionate and prolonged, the two women’s breath hot against each other’s lips. McDowell’s focus on Brai in that moment was almost as precise as her shooting, yet she couldn’t help but overhear an exchange between Dismas and Florian just outside the tent. 

“You’re not jealous or anything, are you, Flo?” Dismas asked. He sounded almost serious for a minute, his wry snark giving away a moment to a genuine compassion for the ostracized, scarred Leper. 

“Not at all. Pleasures of the flesh concern me not, mister Dismas,” Florian replied, sounding distant. 

“Right. Fair enough, lad,” the Highwayman concurred. His voice then turned into a bellow. “ _ Hey, ladies! Move your arses! There’ll be plenty of time for shagging when we’re not at risk of turnin’ into bloody fish food!”  _

McDowell and Brai’s kiss finally broke, akin to forcibly separating two strong magnets, and shared another soft laugh. All the more reason to hurry themselves along, to once more explore the perils of the Cove and--hopefully--prevail for the Estate. 

Always darkest before the dawn, right?


End file.
